


Dearest, Dearest

by QuietBubbles



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), dan and phil
Genre: Death, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Historical, Historical References, I'm Sorry, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, War, World War I, first though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 05:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16056509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietBubbles/pseuds/QuietBubbles
Summary: A collection of love letters written during the Great War between two young soldiers. Hope you enjoy! <3





	Dearest, Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Back again with this little exercise. Essentially, I wanted to write a load of love letters and am using this as an excuse! As I always say, I feel a little weird writing about real people, but this is far outside of reality in both time period and characterization, so I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm sure a lot of what is in these letters would have been censored in real life, as soldier's letters regarding the negative aspects of the war often were, not to mention the tragic criminalisation of homosexuality at the time. I don't claim to be a history expert. This is just fantasy. I hope it's still okay and still enjoyable!
> 
> Thank you for reading and much love <3

All correspondence dated 1915.

* * *

 

 LETTER I

Dearest Philip,

                                I pray that this letter finds you as well as it has left me.

 Oh, you will probably laugh as you read those words! I would give anything to hear as you scornfully chuckle, to see you roll your eyes and shake your head at my foolishness. Understand that I wish only to inject the slightest touch of normality into this exercise. If I close my eyes and clap my hands tightly over my ears, I could almost imagine that I am at home, sitting in comfort at my writing desk, penning an ordinary letter to you. Then, in my fantasy, my letter is collected by an ordinary postman, who whistles merrily through our dear little English village, and slides this page through your very own letterbox, bronze in your blue front door. Finally, in the theatre of my mind, you will open the envelope with the buttery knife from your breakfast, which would have been cooked lovingly by your dear mother, and you would sit back and read this before the fireplace in positive luxury…

 I hope you will indulge me. It gives me great joy to think that this letter may, at least, find you in better conditions than it left me. That would be the greatest comfort of all.

 I can say nothing of where exactly I am, or what exactly I have been doing; of course, I can no more tell you such things than you can tell me. In my previous letters, I have lamented being separately posted, for I miss you more than I can say. However, sometimes I am glad that you are so far away, because I think that seeing you in such situations as I have found myself in would kill me stone dead. I know, of course, that you must have similar experiences out of my sight, but once again, in my fantasy, I can pretend that you are nowhere near this world that God has abandoned. 

 Still, this does not stop me from missing you. Your absence is like a jagged rock inside my heart, scraping at me night and day, cold, violent, and unfeeling-everything that you are not. You bade me in your last letter to try to “keep my chin up”, but I must confess that it is damn near impossible. My chin is firmly in the mud, as it very much were. Though the lads try their hardest to stay chipper, and they are valiant in their attempts, at night when all is silent, I know that each of them must miss someone just as much as I am missing you. Perhaps their mothers, perhaps their sweethearts, perhaps their children-or even all of the above. I have seen their joy at letters that end with love and kisses, the faded photographs kept in breast pockets, the smiles on their sleeping faces as they dream of home, before they wake up and remember. In this, we are united more than any army ever was. Every heart has its rock.

 But, darling, I hope that you will not worry for me. I am warmed by the knowledge that somewhere in the world, under the same smoggy sky, there is something as bright as you. One day, when all of this is over, we shall be together once more. Or, as I believe some days, this dreadful business will swallow us all and end of the world will come, and even then, I know that I will see you in the next life. Essentially, I know in my heart that I will see you one way or another, and that is enough to keep me going.

 Know above all that I love you more than anyone was ever loved. I have kissed these words in the hope that my kiss will find you when you read this, somewhere under these relentless stars.

 All my love,

 Your Daniel.

* * *

 

LETTER II

 Dearest Daniel,

                                I do not think you are the slightest bit foolish. In these quiet moments when I read your letters, I too imagine that wherever you are, you are a little less cold, a little less tired, a little more comfortable, at least, than I. Though the contents of your words often make me believe otherwise, in my heart of hearts, I can find it within myself to imagine you beside that fire, warm and happy as you think on how you are loved by me. I treasure this fantasy, and so once more, I ask you to try to keep that pecker up, for my sake if not your own. Try to smile for me now, as you read this. Close your dear eyes and ears to the real world, and lie as long as you can in dreams of home and happiness. We will find them once more, I know it.

 We have had good weather these last few days, as summer draws to a close. I hope that, wherever you are, you too benefitted from a little sun on your face. I should like to think of you always in the sun-though of course, it is preferable that you are in the sun within your own little garden, sitting on the wall beside your mother’s flowerbeds and basking in the rays, perfectly serene. Especially with a glass of her delicious lemonade in your hand. How I wish with all my heart that we were home for the summer…but perhaps, darling, in a few months’ time, we will be home in time for Christmas! Imagine sitting together in church to hear the carols, decorating the fireplaces with holly and hanging mistletoe from the ceiling, the smell of roasting chestnuts, and the sound of laughter and happiness all around. Yes indeed, love, I live in hope that come Christmas, this business will be over with and we will come home to one another on the snowy village green…

 On the subject of home, I must proposition you with something I have thought upon for a very long time. In these most recent letters, we have discussed our homes; your parents’ house, and my family home. I ask you to consider the following; how ridiculous it is that we still live apart. I know that, back at home, we are less than a mile away from one another, but now we are separated by so many miles, I never want to be more than a breath away from you again. Therefore, I beg you to turn your mind to the future-a future in which we live together.

 Imagine it, my love. A little cottage, just on the outskirts of the village near the brook. We shouldn’t need too much; just a fireplace, a few chickens to peck about the yard, a lovely little dog to sit on our laps, and an enormous wool blanket on the bed that we will share for the rest of our lives. It would be easy to keep such a little place up once we are both back to our ordinary jobs. We could paint the door bright blue, like my own, and grow a bed of flowers just like your mother’s. Then, this Christmas, we can decorate our own fireplace together, with all the holly and mistletoe we could gather. It is my idea of heaven on Earth.

 Think on it, if you would. If you are worried about what people will say, _I_ say-let them talk. Let them gossip, spread rumours, mutter amongst themselves to their heart’s content. None of them matter. You will not be able to hear them over the sound of our own happiness, I promise you this. The moment I am returned to you, I will always protect you. I wish that I could protect you now, from all of this madness about us.

 I await your reply keenly. Let me know your thoughts upon what I have proposed.

 Your kiss was received, and it warmed me more than any fire in the world. I send a dozen back to you, and hope that they will bring you the same comfort that yours brought me. As always, know that you are loved beyond anything else in the world. Chin up!

 Cheerio for now!

 Love,

 Your Philip

* * *

 

LETTER III

 Dearest, Dearest Philip,

                                                I am unashamed to say that the contents of your last letter had me weeping with joy. I was royally teased by the lads for being such an old sap, but I was far, far too happy to care! Even beginning to write back to you now, I can feel prickling behind my eyes as I think upon the wonderful future you suggested. Honestly, darling, I do not know how you do it! How is it that you can bring such sunlight even to the darkest of places? There is no one on Earth like you, no one! It is one of the hundreds of reasons why I adore you.

 You have no idea how much hearing from you at all cheers me. I read each and every letter of yours dozens of times, until I almost have them memorized. Thank goodness I have a perfect recollection of your voice, so that I can imagine you are sitting beside me, chatting away to me in your usual sunny style. Sometimes, I imagine it so hard, I am surprised to look up and find that you are not there. But with a letter that brings such wonderful news as your last, I must confess that I have scarcely stopped reading it ever since I received it. I am sure I shall wear the words away from how often I read them over; my gaze will surely bore holes in the paper from repeated strain. Every time, my heart leaps with happiness. The rock I told you of, while still agonising from the lack of you, is slightly softer on my poor heart today, as if the sharp edges have been sanded down smooth. Oh Philip, I cannot thank God enough for you. 

 Imagining Christmas with you, even on these sweltering summer days, is blissful. It has given me the opportunity to think on the wonderfully mundane, the practicalities of a family Christmas, a world away from the half-baked mud, foul fermenting smells, and terribly frightening noises of my current situation. I have been thinking, my love, that perhaps we ought to spend Christmas Eve with my parents, and then St. Stephen’s Day with yours, so that it is all fair for all. As for Christmas Day, I think it would be terribly special to spend it together, just with one another, for the very first time. Reading your words, I could almost hear the crackle of the flames, the smell of the roasting chestnuts, the music of the carols (such is the magic of your letter). I feel now that I have something to look forward to, a hope of life after this business is over, and we are back in Blighty once more. I cannot wait to meet you once again on the village green. I think I shall run to your arms with such enthusiasm that I will almost knock you over!

 I am comforted so much by the mundane. The thought of making one another cups of tea in the morning! Of reading together by the fire! Of petting our dog, of watching the sun set, of cuddling up together every single night in bed! It is my idea of heaven too. Even to know that you are sharing the same thoughts as I am, perhaps at this very moment, is amazing. Though I have not seen you in so many months, I feel so close to you now, my darling, my saviour, my lifeline.

 How lucky I am to have you. I wish that every one of the lads here had someone as wonderful as you to go home to. I send you back a hundred kisses, and the reminder, once again, that you are loved more than the whole world is loved together.

 All my love,

 Your Daniel

 PS:  In case it was not obvious from my outburst of emotion, the answer to your proposition is yes, a thousand times yes!

* * *

 

LETTER IV

Dearest Daniel,

                                 Your beautiful letter warmed my heart so that I could not stop smiling for two whole days! Even on duty, behind my solemn exterior, my heart was that of a fool in love. I swear, if Jerry had come anywhere near us, he would have been chased away by my sheer infectious cheerfulness! I probably would have annoyed him all the way across No Man’s Land and back to his trench without a single shot fired.

How I wish this could be so. The world has had too much of gunfire. As I am sure you know, things have taken a distinct turn for the worse around here, but I am keeping my chin up, as you know. I have faith that in just a few short months, you and I will be hanging up Christmas decorations together around our own fireplace. The thought of the warmth of both the fire and of your arms are almost enough to keep out the cold of the rain down the back of my neck and the mud around my ankles. A good few of our blokes have been taken ill, and I am more than sorry for them. I am sure that disease picks us off quicker than any amount of ammunition. But, once more, I must remain hopeful and trust that they will be back very soon, restored to full health. I can do nothing else, after all. But thank God that my dear mother has sent me a new pair of socks! Bless the woman and bless her knitting needles! I am sure they have saved my life.

 As always, I do hope that the rain has not hit you so hard as it has hit me-or, better still, you have avoided it altogether. If not, sweetheart, I pray that you have, as far as possible, been able to keep yourself safe, dry, and in good health. I have these dreadful images in my mind of you being carted off to hospital with some ailment from exposure or from damp, and I must say that they have set a shard of ice in the depths of my heart. I think it would be in good company with the rock in your own. Please write back as quickly as you can, love, and reassure me that you are well. I do not think I shall sleep well until I hear from you.

 I have just read back the previous paragraph, and I sound like an overprotective parent! I hope you won’t think I am being too smothering! You must understand that I worry so only out of love for you. I do not know what I would do if I knew that you were ill, and I could not take care of you. It is bad enough that you are sad and lonely, and I cannot comfort you. Honestly, it kills me. Please, darling, just let me know that you are alright, and I will relax.

 I send you back a thousand kisses, and I hope that soon, perhaps even sooner than six months from now, I will be able to give them to you in person. Remember that you are loved. So, so loved.

 Cheerio for now!

 Love,

 Your Philip

* * *

 

 LETTER V

 Dearest Philip,

                                Oh, you poor thing! I will put you out of your misery right away-I am perfectly healthy! We did not get much rain at all. I hate to think of you sitting worrying about me, but I do love you for it. It just shows what a wonderful, caring father you will be…to our dog!

 It is such a shame that we are unable to have children of our own, darling. I do wish it were possible with all my heart. The thought of childlessness struck me this morning when I was dreaming of our cottage, and I realised that we would only ever require one bedroom. Whenever now I hear one of the lads speak fondly of their children at home, I feel an acute pang of grief. Although it is not the end of the world, I must admit that there is misery in it. You would have been such a good parent, and I like to think that I would have been too. We would have made quite the team…But no matter. We must rely upon our siblings and friends to give us nieces and nephews!

 Still, perhaps it is for the best. I would not want to bring a child into this world, to be born into war and death. Some of the older lads have sons in the army with them, and I cannot imagine their pain knowing that their own child is suffering here alongside them, in some Godforsaken corner of Europe in a ditch. I am so glad that our parents at home know nothing of what is happening here. I think it is better that they are ignorant, and I am carefully cheerful in my letters home, as I know you are too. I know that my mother would never sleep again if she knew what I had seen, what I had done.

 Summer is turning to autumn now, I can feel it. It feels as if summer has lasted for a hundred years in this place, and I find myself welcoming the orange of the trees, the cool of the evenings. If only it were peacetime, and we were at home. It would be so lovely simply to sit on the lawn with you, with blankets around our shoulders, and drink hot, steaming mugs of cocoa…or else to sit by that fireplace reading back to back…or else to take our dog (when we have it) out for walks through the forest, leaves crunching beneath its paws…if only it were peacetime.

 I will have to go soon, darling, for duty calls. I can hardly bear to say goodbye to you, in writing or otherwise. All I can do is send you all the kisses in the world, and remind you, as we always do in these terrible times, how very much you are loved by me.

 All my love

 Your Daniel

* * *

 

 LETTER VI

 Dearest Philip,

                                Some time has passed since I last heard from you. The trees are all bare now, and the ground is hardening beneath my boots with the cold. Autumn is well and truly here, and yet I received your last letter when the leaves were still a brilliant orange. Every day I do not hear from you, the rock in my heart hardens and sharpens; of late, it has felt nothing short of an icicle.

 Please, Philip. I try to tell myself that you have probably moved on, and perhaps you have found yourself in a place wherein you cannot send or receive letters. But I beg you, Philip, if you can, if you possibly can, please write to me and tell me that you are alright. I cannot help but begin to fear the worst, and if this is the case, I do not know what I will do. Even in my darkest moments here, I have stayed sane in the knowledge that you are still with me, in spirit if not in truth. I do not know what will become of me without you. Please, Philip, write me just a word to tell me that you are well. I love you more desperately than ever.

 All my love

 Your Daniel

* * *

 

 LETTER VII

 Daniel,

                I must apologise for keeping you in the dark of late, and for the brevity of this letter. I must also apologise for the state of the handwriting. I’m sorry. There is no sense beating around the bush. I write to you from a hospital bed. Caught up in a damned blast. Took all of us by surprise. Huge losses sustained. I’m sorry. I have not the strength to list the extent of my injuries. I’m so sorry, Danny.

 I pray you write back quickly, for you are my only comfort. Besides the pain, I think of nothing else. You are as an angel to me now. My love, forever.

 Cheerio

 Philip

* * *

 

 LETTER VIII

 Dearest, Dearest Philip,

                                                I have tried and tried to be granted leave to come to you, but to my anger and grief it cannot be done. I am crying bitter tears as I write these words.

 I could not believe your letter at first-I wouldn’t let myself believe it. But, after the shock, I felt nothing but rage. How can someone as blameless as you possibly be allowed to suffer? It is hateful, hateful, hateful. I hate this war. I hate the world. I hate that I cannot even see you, or hold your hand, or take care of you myself. There is no justice.

 Darling, you must hold on. I don’t care how badly injured you are, I don’t care what you can and can’t do any longer, I don’t care, for I will do all of it for you. I swear that I will look after you for the rest of our lives. I will care for you and love you always. I promise I will keep trying to come to you, and if I possibly can, I will be there in a heartbeat. Until I can see you, you must put all your strength into getting better. You are so strong, and I know you can get through this. You must simply hold on. Remember, my love, that we will be home in time for Christmas. Think of Christmas, think of you and I decorating our cottage, think of the sound of carols and the smell of chestnuts, think and wish it so hard that it will become reality. Don’t worry about writing letters to me. I look at your poor letter and I weep harder to think of all that painful effort. Concentrate on nothing but getting better.

 I will write again the moment I can. Until then, know that I do nothing but pray for you. I believe in you, and I have firm faith that we will soon be reunited. Hold on, my love, please.

 All my love

 Your Daniel

* * *

 

 LETTER IX

 Dear Sir,

                  I do hope that you do not object to my contacting you. Though it is against procedure, and frankly illegal, I could not live with myself if I did not. It may not be the right thing to do according to our administration laws, but as a human being, in the midst of all this inhumanity, I felt that I must write to you.

 My name is Nurse Redfern, and for the last month I have cared for your companion, Philip. I am devastated to inform you that, following a fever from infection, Philip passed away last night.  

 I know that nothing will console you at a time like this. But there are a few things you should know. Philip’s injuries ought to have killed him outright, but somehow, he managed to hold on for far longer than any of us could have hoped for. Whenever he had the strength, whenever the pain withheld long enough for him to speak, he talked of nothing but you. Right to the very end. He read your letters constantly, well into the night, for they miraculously survived the detonation of the explosive in his breast pocket, where I believe he kept them always. He even made me guide his hand to write back to you. He sat for two hours, in agony, to manage those few poor lines. Everyone here was very fond of Philip. He was such a warm, selfless soul, even in his state. I am devastated that we could not save him.

 He would have wanted me to write to you, I am certain. You must know how much he loved you. I am sending this to you with all of your exchanged letters enclosed, for you to keep. I hope they are some comfort.

 God bless you.

J. Redfern

* * *

 

 LETTER X

 My Dearest, Dearest Philip,

  

...

 

 All my love, forever

 Your Daniel


End file.
